Page 26 of Free Agent

Couldn’t hold the tears, not anymore.

I was glad to be facing away from him as they trailed down my face, evidence of years of hurt I’d bottled. It wasn’t even that Monty was doing anything new, or unexpected, or worse than anything else over the course of our time together.

Today was just… a bridge too far.

So I cried.

For this time, and all the times I hadn’t, for things Monty had done and things he had nothing to do with.

I just cried.

And it kinda felt… great.

It wasn’t even embarrassing until I finally calmed down and excused myself to the bathroom to wash my salty, puffy face.

“So…” Tatum started, when I emerged. “About me heading out…”

“Oh hell.” I cringed. “You’re probably dying to get away from me. I’m sorry,” I said, gesturing for him to follow me to the door.

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” he chuckled. “And no need to be sorry. Seemed like you needed that.”

“It was indeed cathartic.” There was a partial wall separating the entry from the rest of the room, and I stopped there, leaning against it. “Thank you.”

“After this, you won’t be claiming stranger on me now, right?” he asked, pulling me into a full-bodied hug that sent a shiver down my back.

A lingering hug.

The kind I hadn’t been wrapped up in in way too long, with him being all big and warm, and smelling so damn good. I breathed in deep, basking in the heat and significance of him.

He didn’t let me go.

Even when he pulled back a bit to look me in the face, his hands stayed planted at the small of my back, keeping me close.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “Anything else implies you did the first thing.”

“Rori…” he sighed, and I shook my head.

“No. Don’t do that. Just…”

This time… my hands didn’t shake when I went for his belt.

I wasn’t uncertain at all. I was clear as hell, fingers steady as I made quick work of getting his pants undone, ready to go straight to pulling his dick out when he stopped me.

Sort of.

It was less that he stopped me, more that he started too, moving a hand to the back of my neck to haul my face to his, to kiss me.

I hadn’t been kissed in far too long.

Monty was the only person I had any reason to be kissing, and his predilections assured no such intimacy had been happening between us. Not for a while.

I told myself that was why it felt like my tongue was magnetized to Tatum’s, why the taste of his mouth was so damn sweet, why every press of lips, every clumsy click of teeth before we fell into sync was so… perfect.

Any morsel would seem like a feast to someone who was starving, right?

And I was absolutely that, I realized now that I was planted smack in the middle of the buffet that was Tatum’s… everything. The smoky sweetness of his cologne, the firm heat of his hands, the oaky taste of bourbon lingering on his tongue, was all a damn meal for the senses that had me practically purring.

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